“Haven’t heard from you in weeks, Dew, no return texts, no return calls and now your cell says disconnected. Don’t like that shit. Don’t like finally hearin’ from you only for you to spout shit. And don’t like givin’ you twenty-five K for six weeks of nothin’,” Walker told him.
“Had to ditch that phone, Ty.”
Jesus. Nothing had changed. Dewey changed phones like he changed underwear.
“Why?” Walker asked.
“They read it and hear it. I know it.”
Fuck. There it was. The reason why Dewey changed phones like underwear, paranoia. The brother thought cops had superhuman powers. This was because he got caught, sent down and he wasn’t smart enough to admit he got caught and sent down because he was a dumb fuck not because the cops had superhuman powers.
Dewey went on, “You know and I know that they know, you want somethin’, you’ll come to me and I’ll get it for you. They know we’re tight. They were all over me. I had to lay low.”
With waning patience, Walker reminded him, “Like I explained, Dew, you don’t do shit. You connect with brothers who will.”
“They see that shit too.”
“Bullshit,” Walker bit out. “You want it, you’re a fuckin’ shadow and none of your connections live in the light.”
Dewey pressed his lips together because Walker was not lying and he knew it.
Walker took a step toward him, not too far he couldn’t see the door but enough to make a point. “I need dirt,” he said low. “And there’s so much dirt on these guys, I should be up to my neck in it by now. This was not a hard assignment. This shoulda taken you a fuckin’ week, not six.”
“They aren’t exactly out in the open with their shit,” Dewey returned.
“And your connections aren’t gonna win citizen of the year either,” Walker shot back.
Dewey stared at him.
Then he said softly, “Ty, this really the way you wanna go? You push, they’ll push back.”
What the fuck?
“We’ve had this conversation, Dew.”
“But –”
“Don’t like repeatin’ myself.”
“Ty,” he took a step forward, “thinkin’ on this awhile, I don’t think it’s good, I didn’t then, I don’t now.”
“Right, then give me back my twenty-five K and I’ll find someone who doesn’t have a fuckin’ opinion.”
Dewey took two steps back and Walker stared him in the eyes.
Then he whispered, “Right.”
The fuckwad didn’t have the money. Six weeks, he’d pissed away twenty-five K. Walker half expected it, it was a risk he had to take because Dewey lived with his belly to the ground and he was connected to anyone from there to Denver who lived the same. Walker couldn’t shake his tail and make those connections; he needed a man to do it for him. That was Dewey. But his friend had fucked him, not altogether a surprise but that didn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed.
“You sat a game,” he guessed.
Dewey pressed his lips together again.
Walker shook his head then said, “You owe me twenty-five large, Dew. You jacked me around for six weeks; you got half of that to get it back. You don’t, I’ll find you.”
“Ty –”
“Make no mistake, I’ll find you.”
Dewey nodded and didn’t say a word. He knew Walker would find him. He knew, they were tight or not, what Walker would do when he did. He also knew to avoid that. So Dewey sometime in the next three weeks would fuck over another fucking idiot to get Walker’s payback. The vicious cycle of the life of a stupid man addicted to fucking cards.
“I didn’t come empty, Ty. I got somethin’ for you,” Dewey offered.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Your tail is gone. Bad boys of Carnal PD are convinced five years not breathin’ free, hot snatch you got at home, you’ll do noth –”
He didn’t finish because his found his body twisted, slammed against the lockers, his feet six inches off the ground and Ty Walker’s big hand wrapped tight around his throat, his face an inch away.
“You do not call my wife hot snatch,” he growled into his friend’s face and Dewey instantly nodded as best he could with Ty’s fingers curled around his throat, cutting off his breath.
Ty dropped him and stepped back.
Then, knowing his point was made in a way even Dewey understood it, he moved on. “Got eyes. I know I lost the tail.”
And he did. Three weeks ago. Just after Keaton saw top-to-toe the talent Walker had in his bed and the boys assigned to tail and do the drive-bys of the condo took in planters and deck furniture. They had eyes and ears everywhere. Walker and Lexie at The Rooster, the Italian place in town, the Toyota dealership. No doubt they looked into Lexie and no matter her relationship with Rodriguez, their lives had never mixed and they couldn’t do smack with speeding and parking tickets. She was clean.
Message received was that Ty Walker was cowed, moving on, keeping his head down and nose clean, not about to fuck his future, especially since that future included Lexie and he had no doubt they’d all had their look at Lexie.
It wasn’t a play, it was real. But seeing the results, it was a play he should have thought of though, if he did, he wouldn’t have gone for it thinking they wouldn’t be that dumb.
Then again, he forgot they were half-idiots.
And also, he had no idea he’d walk out to the miracle that was Lexie.
“What I’m sayin’ is,” Dewey kept talking, “word ‘round the Station, they’re convinced you’re movin’ on. They’re leavin’ you be.”
This news was good but Walker didn’t respond.
Dewey kept going. “Ty, they leave you be then you can just… be. Haven’t seen her, hear she’s somethin’. Got that, got a job, got your life back. There’s only one year left on your sentence, one year you gotta live on parole. More than a month a’ that is gone. Maybe signs are sayin’ you should just be.”
“You do time?” Walker asked a question the answer to which he knew.
“Yeah,” Dewey told him the answer he knew.
“Was it fun?” Walker asked.
“Ty –”
“You earned yours and it wasn’t fun, Dew. I did not earn mine. Do not fuckin’ stand there and counsel me about just being.”
His friend studied him then he repeated quietly, “Ty, you push, they’ll push back.”
“Can’t push back if they’re paralyzed.”
“You think a dozen men the last twenty years have not had your same idea, half of them brothers, you’re wrong. They all got smacked down.”
“None of them were as motivated as me.”
This was true. He knew. He knew many a biker or black man in and around Carnal had taken their hits from Arnie Fuller and the Carnal PD. Knew they tried to hit back. Knew they failed.
He also knew he was not them.
None of them were jacked near as badly.
Dewey studied him again then said, still talking quietly, “I’ll keep ears and eyes open. Anything you need to know, I’ll get word to you.” He paused then offered, “Freebie.”
“No shit?” Walker asked and Dewey, being Dewey, grinned.
Walker did not grin back.
Instead he reminded him. “Three weeks today, Dew.”
Dewey’s grin faded, he nodded then he replied, “Three weeks.”
Walker turned away and went to his workout bag. Dewey disappeared back through the window. Summer, long days, it was early evening, still light. Even so, no one would see Dewey. He could be a shadow standing in the middle of a field at noon. With that kind of talent at hand, him still getting tagged made him all the more stupid.
Walker bent and grabbed his bag, moving out of the locker room into the gym. The instant he hit it, he did a scan. It was automatic. He clocked everyone there, knew who’d arrived since he went to the locker room, who’d moved stations or machines, in or out of rings. Years of playing poker successfully, he’d learned
to notice a shift of the eyes, a twitch of the finger, the way a man would move the cards around in his hand or what it meant when he didn’t considering what he would eventually turn over. This served him well inside and he’d spent five years polishing this skill, facial expressions, the set of shoulders, the clench of fists, a man’s gait, his position in a room, in the yard. Anyone sent down with half a brain used their time to hone this skill or they didn’t last long. Seeing as Walker’s was already amplified, he could read a man and gauge a room at a glance.
Second nature.
This freed him up to set the meeting and the frustrations it caused aside. He had other contacts but considering his first choice was Dewey, he wasn’t fired up to connect with his second runner up. The other choice was, without a tail, start digging himself. Risky and time consuming, time he’d have to take away from Lexie, something he did not want to do. An elevation in risk that could conceivably take him away from Lexie, something he really did not want to do.
Thinking about Lexie made his gait quicken. Workout done. Pain in the ass meet with Dewey over.
Time to get home.
A home without Ella, Bessie and Honey.
The last two weeks had been insane. When he told Tate that Lexie would want to pack it all in, he had not been wrong. But she wasn’t the only one who wanted to pack it all in, all four of those women didn’t want to waste a single breath.
So they didn’t.
This was good, it meant he could avoid the meet with Tate. A meeting where Tate would try to take Walker’s pulse, dig and see if Walker was up to something. Then expend the wasted effort to try and talk him out of it. Then get pissed when his effort was wasted.
Walker didn’t need that shit. Neither did Tate. He owed the man his time and he’d give it to him and then try to manage the meeting so feelings wouldn’t turn hard.
But he couldn’t say he wasn’t fucking glad he’d had genuine excuses to delay.
These included Ella treating them all to her “famous Texas chili”, shit so hot, Walker couldn’t taste the meat or beans, just the heat. This started a contest for each of those sisters to one-up themselves, something he could have saved them doing since he hadn’t enjoyed Ella’s treat but he couldn’t exactly say that, as much as he wanted to, so he didn’t.
Honey’s offering was worse. Thankfully the bitch was dim so Lexie and Ella were able to draw her attention away while Bessie confiscated plates and dumped vast portions of whatever the fuck it was supposed to be in the garbage so they didn’t have to eat it. Walker thought he’d have to go to bed starved but Lexie had snuck down to the kitchen and made him sandwiches then came up with them to tell him she’d run into Ella and Bessie doing the same.
At this, she’d laughed herself sick. She’d laughed herself sicker when she presented him with bologna and an excuse of, “This was the best I could do, baby, Ella was distracting Honey, I didn’t have time to do more.”
It was the first time since he was a kid and learned better that he preferred bologna to the alternative.
Luckily, Bessie knew her way around the kitchen. Her meat pie with cornbread topping was the shit.
When they weren’t cooking, Lexie had talked him into taking them to The Rooster. And she’d talked him into taking them to the Italian place then to Bubba’s. Further, Maggie had thrown a barbeque in honor of their visit which meant they had to go. The next week, not to be outdone, Laurie had invited them all to dinner. He’d barely step foot at the top of the stairs before Lexie was telling him he needed to get his ass in the shower because they were off somewhere.
And even if they weren’t, the women latched on and his time was full.
One night, they seated him at the island with Lexie’s photo albums, ten of those fuckers. Clearly, she hadn’t just discovered taking photos; his wife had made a habit of it for two decades. They all stood around him, the best part being Lexie standing behind him, tits pressed to his back, arm reaching around to flip the pages, finger pointing to pictures, her body moving against his as she giggled, pressing closer and circling his chest with her other arm while she reminisced, sometimes she’d drop her chin to his shoulder and go quiet as the other three shared stories. And all four of them told their tales over photo albums and they’d done it for hours.
Through it, Lexie was having the time of her life and he couldn’t say he wasn’t interested, seeing the pages turn, seeing their lives in pictures, getting to know her family and, as the photos passed by, watching his wife grow older, mature. He wasn’t surprised to see she was a knockout from age fourteen, she’d always had beauty but also there was no way to miss the promise of what it would be when it ripened. Then the page would turn and he’d see it ripen. It was exactly what he expected. And he expected this because Rodriguez, who in the beginning with his talent could have any pussy he wanted lie back and spread but he knew, no matter the choice, nothing compared to what he had at home.
She didn’t hide Rodriguez, quickly turn pages he was in or skim over his photos, not from Walker, not from her family. That was Lex. Nothing hidden. No bullshit. Rodriguez was a part of her life, their lives and she didn’t feel there was a reason to bury him. Walker guessed this was because he was buried, literally and that was enough. He’d been a major component in her life, now he was gone. That was it.
Picture night happened once but if he was not dragging their asses to restaurants, the women in his house could yammer and they did, sitting around the kitchen or on the deck furniture, Lexie sipping beer, her girls sucking back cocktails and, as with the pictures, they did it for hours. He tried to make a point by sitting in front of a game but not only Lexie but all of them would call out his name or come to the door to the deck, tell him a story, share a joke, tell him what one of them had just said. He didn’t have any desire to be in their hen huddle but he couldn’t say the four of them weren’t fucking funny, they were. Every last one. Including Honey. And the sound of their jabbering and laughter, he had to admit, was far from annoying.
Deep in the second week, Tuku’s framed pen and ink had been delivered. This night included him and Bessie holding the frame up in various places in the living room while Ella, Honey and Lexie studied it, fingers to faces, heads tipped to the side, uncertain and directing them to move it somewhere else. Walker tired of this about five seconds in, knowing exactly where he wanted it. Bessie tired of it ten seconds later and started throwing sass. She put up with about fifteen minutes more then announced, “Ya’ll got two seconds to make up your minds, you don’t, I carry this motherfucker to the deck and throw it over the side.”
At that point, Walker’s patience and politeness ran out, he took over and he had the frame mounted over the sofa opposite the fireplace within ten minutes. Bessie approved. Ella and Lexie shared grins. Honey declared she thought it looked better over the fireplace.
On his Thursdays off, when Lexie had to work, he was pressed into sightseeing duties. Hauling those bitches to the Colorado National Monument the first Thursday, Lexie telling them they simply could not return to Texas without seeing it. But when he took them, they liked the look of it and they did drag their asses out of the Cruiser to clatter on their platform heels to a location where he could take their picture with part of the Monument in the background. But then they clattered right back. No hiking trail for them, no closer look. Fuck, he wasn’t certain Honey could even spell “hiking trail”. Then, with uncanny senses, they located a sushi restaurant in Grand Junction like they could sniff the fucker out, dragged him there and then spent a whole fucking hour in Enstrom buying enough toffee and chocolate to supply most of Dallas.
His second Thursday, yesterday, was worse because he took them to Aspen. There was shopping in Aspen. This was not good, it was not fun and as hilarious as those bitches could be, he did not find anything about that day funny.
When he told Lexie about it in bed last night, she’d again laughed herself sick.
He had to say, he loved his wife’s laugh, he loved hearin
g it but at that time, Walker didn’t even crack a smile because he found not one second of his day funny.
He should have known considering Ella got a wild hair on the previous Sunday, announcing that she had to give them a wedding gift. He’d tried to refuse attendance at this event and all four of them had leaned on him. He couldn’t bear up, not under Lexie’s pleading so he’d caved and gone. He shouldn’t have. For some reason, Lex was in ecstasy (though she repeated over and over, “You shouldn’t. We couldn’t accept,” then she did) when Ella bought them a KitchenAid mixer. Again, the two remaining sisters went straight into one-upping their mother. This led to Bessie buying them two bags of kitchen shit, more than half of it he didn’t even know what the fuck it was and the half of it he did know what it was consisted mostly of bowls and spoons. He didn’t think a kitchen needed that many bowls and spoons but, regardless, now they had them. Then they dragged him from the mall into Carnal where Honey added what Lexie called a “crock” to their gray pottery collection as well as a trio of tall candlesticks Lexie arranged on the hearth. He got it when the crock was set on the kitchen counter and filled with her spoons.
It all looked good.
He still didn’t have to be there during their purchases.
Even though most of this was a pain in his ass, some of it a serious pain in his ass, he’d be lying if he said on a certain level he didn’t enjoy it. And that level was partly about watching his wife with her family, knowing she was happy, watching her spend time with people she loved. But it was also about getting it, why she was loyal to them, why she cared so much about them. Never in his life had he experienced family like that and it took some time but even from the first they accepted him then they softened towards him then they sucked him in. They were why Lexie was who she was, open, affectionate, touchy, honest, funny and, the longer he was with them, the more of that they treated him to.
And he liked it.
But he also liked that they trailed him and his wife downstairs to the Viper that morning when he was on his way to work in order to give him hugs. Then they wandered to the end of the garage to wave him sleepily away because in an hour they were going to climb into their rental truck and haul their asses home.
Lady Luck Page 27
